


Floating World

by ide_cyan



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Catholic guilt-free fluff, Condoms, Die Hard References, ExoWriMo, Hand Jobs, M/M, Motel, Rimming, Swimming Pool, Underwater Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ide_cyan/pseuds/ide_cyan
Summary: Swimming pool rules. Marcus relaxes for a moment. Tomas is more of a realist. Then Marcus demonstrates a surprisingly dirty mind, and they have very clean sex.





	1. Chapter 1

There's a pool behind the motel and Marcus strips down to his skivvies before Tomas has even dropped their bags off in their room. It's late, and even though it's summer, the sun has set well over a hour ago. The pool hours will be over soon so there's no time to waste.

He jumps in. The cold water takes his breath away and sends his balls climbing up to somewhere in the vincinity of his stomach for safety. His feet hit bottom and the water only comes up to just above his navel when he stands. He's in the shallow end. He dunks his head in and he can feel the chlorine stinging every little scrape he has that hasn't had the time to close yet.

It's wonderful.

Probably should have rinsed off in the shower first, if he'd been a good boy.

He has the pool all to himself.

"Tomas!" he hollers. "You joining us?"

Through the half-open motel door Tomas shushes him. "Keep it down! Other people are trying to sleep."

"Sleep is for the dead, Tomas."

Marcus lies back and lets himself be buoyed by the water, looking up at the sky. The poolside lights flood his vision around the edges, drowning out the stars. He can hear the highway traffic, and the hum of cicadas, and the television on in one of the rooms. The pop of his tired joints cracking in his ears, carried by the water. There's a dog howling in the distance, or maybe a coyote. He revels in the weightlessness of his body in the water. All his earthly burdens suspended, just for a moment.

 

***

 

Tomas comes out of their room with a towel that he drops on one of the cheap lawnchairs next to the pool. He picks up Marcus's clothes and shoes and takes them back to the room. When he comes back he has taken off his collar and jacket and rolled his trouser legs up to his knees.

He dips a toe into the water and hesitantly sits down at the edge of the pool, immersing only his feet.

Marcus wades over to him.

"You not coming in?"

"I didn't pack a swimsuit. And this is fine. The water's cold. How can it be this cold when it was a hundred degrees in the shade today?"

"Beats me. I was hoping you'd do us a favour and keep us warm."

Marcus rubs one of Tomas's calves. The long dark hairs on Tomas's shins float away from his goosefleshed skin, and curl back on it when he lifts his legs up, kicking his feet and sending lazy ripples across the pool.

"Come on, you don't need a swimsuit. I didn't bring one either." Marcus's wet, threadbare briefs are not very modest anymore.

"Marcus, this is a public place. We're in a red state."

"There's no one around."

"There's a surveillance camera."

"And God is always watching us. So?" Marcus smiles his naughtiest smile and grabs both of Tomas's ankles. Tomas scowls at him and braces himself with his arms.

"Marcus, if you pull me in with my clothes on you're sleeping on the floor tonight."

"So take them off."

"Then let go."

Marcus lets go, raises his hands innocently, and backs away.

Tomas undresses, and folds his clothes neatly on the chair next to the towel. He takes the time to use the outdoor shower next to the pool to soak himself before climbing down the ladder to join Marcus. His black boxer briefs cling to the curves of his arse, the top of his powerful thighs.

"¡Dios mío, qué frío!" Tomas exclaims when the water reaches his waist.

"¡Qué padre!" says Marcus. He splashes water onto Tomas's back.

Tomas spins around and splashes water right back at him. 

Marcus paddles off to the deep end. He's not a very good swimmer, never got proper lessons growing up, but he manages. The water in the deep end just reaches the top of his head. He tiptoes toward the edge of the pool for a handhold to keep himself abreast.

Tomas pushes off from the opposite wall and shoots toward Marcus like a torpedo. He surfaces alongside him, water dripping into his face, wet black hair flattened on the crown of his skull, black chest hair floating around his hardened nipples.

"There's something to be said about the cold," Marcus says. His teeth are starting to chatter.

Tomas's eyelashes are ridiculously gorgeous in his wet face, and drops of water catch the light in the beard he's been growing. Marcus just stares at him, shivering, and Tomas moves closer, encircling him in his arms.

Their feet don't touch the ground.

 

***

 

"Hold your breath," Tomas says.

Marcus does as he is told.

Tomas pulls him underwater. Marcus opens his eyes, despite the burn of chlorine. Tomas's eyes are closed, but he pulls Marcus in for a kiss, guiding his face with his hands.

Marcus blinks away air bubbles and kisses back. 

They must stop to catch their breaths, rising up by the side of the pool again.

"Warmer?" asks Tomas.

"Mmmm." 

Tomas is holding the edge of the pool for them both. Marcus has his hands free to hold on to Tomas, and slips one under the elastic of Tomas's underwear.

"I wish I could fuck you right here."

"Let's try not to get arrested tonight, shall we?"

"Spoilsport."

The pool lights shut off abruptly. Closing time. Only the safety lights around the building and the glow of a television set through the curtains of one of the more distant windows remain. And the headlights of cars, on the other side of the motel, passing by, casting moving shadows in their stream.

It's not quite dark enough for privacy.

They hoist themselves out of the pool. Marcus's underwear, weighed down by the water, nearly falls off his hips and he has to hold it up as they walk to the shower to rinse off the chlorine. The shower jet is thin and overpressured, but warm.

Tomas wraps the towel around Marcus's shoulders, gathers his clothes, and follows him, dripping all the way to the bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomas doesn't want to end up on YouTube as a video tagged "Priests Gone Wild".

It's like picking up after his nephew at the pool, Tomas thinks as he puts away Marcus's clothes, but he can't begrudge Marcus's childlike glee at the chance for a swim. It's been a long drive, and they have another day of the same awaiting them tomorrow.

He strips off his socks and makes fists with his toes on the motel room carpet. The secret to surviving exorcist travel. He laughs to himself at that, and takes off his jacket and dog collar before joining Marcus outside. The evening is still warm, and it would feel good to dip his toes in, to stretch out and soak his feet more comfortably than sitting on the edge of a tiny motel bathtub usually allows.

Marcus is floating belly-up, limbs stretched out like a starfish, looking up at the stars. Is that an air bubble in his underwear, or is he just happy to see Tomas? His presence does make the pool look inviting, but it shocks Tomas how cold the water is when he touches it. It's a far cry from the overheated community center he and Olivia took Luis to for swimming lessons, but the smell of chlorine is just as intense, up close. And that's probably better than the alternative. The stretch of highway where the motel sits is pretty lonely, and the safety fence isn't much of a deterrent. Who knows who else might be enjoying the only pool on this side of the horizon.

Marcus pleads with him to come for a swim, and Tomas relents, undressing with an eye on the security camera he spotted earlier. He doesn't want to put on a show. Perhaps showering first will lessen the temperature shock. 

It doesn't. "¡Qué frio!"

"!Qué padre!" Marcus teases, and splashes him like a kid. And runs away to the deep end when Tomas pays the gesture back, swimming worse than Luis does. Tomas rushes after him, and treads water while Marcus holds the edge of the pool. Marcus looks chilled. His beard drips wildly when shivers send his chin stuttering. It's definitely too cold for his come-ons, and the air has been cooling since nightfall.

Tomas embraces him, warming the water between them. Marcus's skin pinks up, a flush spreading across his sun-freckled chest. Tomas wants to kiss him, but the motel clerk saw Tomas in his collar when they checked in, and might be watching them right now through the closed-circuit surveillance. Tomas doesn't want to end up on YouTube as a video tagged "Priests Gone Wild".

He tells Marcus to hold his breath, and pulls him under the surface for that kiss. They come up for air and Tomas holds Marcus close against the side of the pool.

Marcus's hands travel down to Tomas's ass and Tomas feels the beginning of a boner rally against the cold when Marcus tells him he wishes he could fuck him right there.

He doesn't want that to end up on YouTube. Or YouPorn. Or especially in a police evidence file for charges of public indecency. The lights go out, as if on cue. Time to get out of the pool.

They rinse off the pool chemicals and have to share a much-too-small towel. The elastic on Marcus's waterlogged tighty-whities has given up the ghost, and Tomas watches Marcus try to cover his ass as they head into the bedroom.

¡Qué padre! indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleanliness is next to godliness.

Tomas locks the motel room door and closes the blinds.

Marcus sits naked on the bed nearer the back of the room, one of the two double-beds separated by a nightstand and their luggage, blindly ransacking one of Tomas's bags. Tomas bought condoms a couple of rest stops and nights before. Walked in the drugstore dressed as a civilian, to avoid embarrassing questions, while Marcus waited in the truck. Condoms and latex-safe personal lubricant and a couple of gallons of filtered water, and cups of vending-machine coffee. They still have lube and condoms left, but Marcus is looking in the wrong place.

"Nightstand drawer," says Tomas, pulling them out and showing him he has already planned ahead. Marcus holds up a pair of small surgical steel scissors from their first-aid kit, and sets them on the same small table, next to the motel room Bible.

They're alone, in private, now, and Tomas isn't afraid to kiss him here, so he removes his own soaked underwear and climbs onto the bed and over Marcus and plants one on him, tipping him back against the covers. Marcus tilts his head and takes in the kiss, drinking deeply from Tomas's mouth, licking up at his lips, his palm pressed to Tomas's still-humid chest hair.

Marcus's eyes catch the dim light in the darkened room and glint as he lies under Tomas's body, looking up at him in wonder that Tomas takes in with a lump of emotion in his chest. The lines of his face are so different than when he is angry or worried or afraid, the crinkles around his eyes, the smiling curves of his cheekbones more prominent. Tomas takes off the necklace from around Marcus's neck and sets it on top of the nightstand Bible. He bends his head toward Marcus and kisses him again, their bodies pressing together, both their groins still damp from the pool. Marcus's arms close around his back, bringing Tomas closer so that Tomas can feel Marcus's heartbeat through his own breast, the warmth of Marcus's belly against his own, the rise of Marcus's chest with each breath the other man takes. He kisses Marcus's neck, and Marcus turns and lifts a shoulder, leveraging Tomas to tilt so that they lie on their side, facing each other. 

Tomas slides a hand down Marcus's flank, pulling his leg up from the back of his knee to bring it between Tomas's own legs. Marcus's head lolls forwards, his forehead touching Tomas's.

"Are you falling asleep on me?"

"Might be. Might be I just need a better look." Marcus's hand, the one that isn't pinned under Tomas, reaches between them and caresses Tomas's crotch, petting the dark curls over his pubis, and gently tugs on Tomas's cock, tapping a vein of arousal deep in Tomas's belly at the touch of Marcus's water-wrinkled fingers. 

"Do you still want to fuck me?" whispers Tomas.

"I do."

"I want you to to fuck me. Please, Marcus."

"Tell me how. Is this good?" Marcus's hand moves around Tomas's cock, in a loose twisting milking motion, rousing an erection, tugging harder as Tomas grows harder. Tomas squeezes Marcus's knee between his legs, and steadies Marcus's arm above the elbow while Marcus's hand and wrist work on his engorging cock.

"It's good. I love your hand around me." Marcus has wide, long-fingered hands. Tomas has seen him frenziedly rubbing charcoal on paper, blackened by it, marking large sheets of it in broad aggressive strokes. "Faster, please." Marcus's bird-drawing hand, redacting hand, compelling hand, retracting Tomas's foreskin, uncovering and covering the tip of his cock.

"I want to taste you," Marcus says.

Tomas kisses him again, but Marcus pulls away and Tomas groans, astounded that Marcus has stopped. Marcus has turned to the nightstand, and switched on the light above it. It is too bright to Tomas's arousal-dilated eyes.

He hears Marcus unwrap a condom, unroll it, then squints for a look only to see Marcus using the scissors he had set aside to snip off the condom's ends and cut it lengthwise into a makeshift sheet of latex. 

"What are you doing?"

"An old trick I learned from some pamphlets denouncing the Church's barbaric prohibition on contraceptives." Marcus smiles fondly. "I got hold of a stack of them that had been confiscated by the local bishop and they fairly burned themselves into my brain. Sent them back out into the world, after that, but, oh, I loved the illustrations! I've been meaning to find out if they're even better in person."

"You just destroyed a condom, Marcus."

Tomas has had more sex than Marcus has ever had, though mostly with women, and he's fairly certain the condoms in this very box, purchased at that rest stop not so many nights ago, are the first Marcus has ever used. And still Marcus keeps finding ways of making Tomas feel like he's the student who must be taught a lesson. All the more so when Marcus makes him stand up, uses the damp towel to wipe down Tomas's ass, lingering on his asscrack, and ignores Tomas's hard-on entirely.

"Lie down again for me."

Tomas reclines on the bed, but Marcus turns him over and Tomas thinks he's in for a spanking now. It sends a shameful spike of blood directly to his cock. He twists his neck to look at Marcus over his shoulder. Marcus grins at him, kisses Tomas's behind with a loud smooch, and positions his body between Tomas's parted legs, kneeling on the floor. 

Dangling the destroyed condom delicately between his lips, Marcus spreads Tomas's buttocks apart with both hands and deposits the piece of latex in their middle. Tomas understands his intent just as Marcus explains it.

"I want to fuck you with my tongue, Tomas."

They've gone down on each other before, but not like this. Tomas's mental roadmap to initiating Marcus Keane to lovemaking, working himself up to asking Marcus to top him for anal sex in what would be both of their first times, has taken an unexpected detour, has defied its GPS. Recalculating... _Pamphlets?_ How _long_ has Marcus waited to try this out, exactly, through his 41 years of chastity?

Trepidating, his heart fluttering in his chest, Tomas puts his faith in Marcus.

"Fuck me, Marcus."

Marcus pins the makeshift barrier with his indexes and thumbs over Tomas's asshole, a wide, shy grin under his mustache. Then Marcus's jaws part, his pointed tongue extends toward Tomas's asshole, and Tomas looks away, abandoning himself to Marcus's ravishing, inexperienced hunger.

Licking, teasing, Marcus eats Tomas's ass like a man dying of thirst tries to suck the last drops of water from a cleft in the desert, drowning Tomas in new sensations. Marcus's hands squeeze Tomas's cheeks and hold him down, Marcus's left-wrist medal cold on Tomas's skin. Tomas bucks against Marcus's invading tongue and grinds into the mattress, pulls the bedcover over his head to muffle his cries as he arches his back.

Tomas is overwhelmed, but he cannot take it anymore. He is so close to coming.

Again he begs Marcus.

"Oh, fuck me, fuck me."

Behind him, Marcus climbs onto the bed and spoons him closely and resumes the interrupted job of bringing Tomas off with his hands, fondling Tomas's balls and pumping Tomas's cock using Tomas's own slick precome as lube, jerking him off ungently until he goes over the edge and ejaculates, moaning and panting, the bedcover still over his head.

Cradling his little spoon, Marcus pulls the cover off and pets Tomas's hair, which is almost dry now but for a new sheen of sweat on his skin, whispering in Tomas's ear words that Tomas is too far gone to make out.

When Tomas's mind floats back into focus, he half-turns towards Marcus to share a langorous kiss, Marcus's tongue tasting of latex, his skin still smelling of chlorine, his beard and mustache kept clean by the makeshift barrier he has used. Marcus's head lolls against his shoulder.

"Marcus?"

Marcus is half-hard against Tomas's back, but his breathing is slow and Tomas doesn't want to move out of his embrace. He can only just reach to switch off the light without disturbing Marcus. He will owe him an orgasm in the morning.

Locked together, they drift off to sleep.

 

***

 

The cold draught of the air conditioning rouses Marcus a few hours later. He pulls off the bedspread and sheets from the other bed to cover Tomas and himself, and turns in again.


End file.
